A Very Warped Fairy Tale
by Madea's Rage
Summary: Draco and Greg team up to tell their version of a muggle favourite, with abject apologies to Charles Perrault and the Brothers Grimm.


**A/N: **

**Thanks to the muggles who owled. It was nice.**

**Countess Black was asking that nice muggle bird to write things a little less sad than before, and so she asked us to help, being as she says we're 'comedy gold'. Draco's parts are all fancy and mine aren't. **

** _ If anything is 'comedy gold', it's that Madea thinks these stories fit for children. Though that would explain a lot about her... Some bloke called Perrault wrote this originally; since__ certain__ muggles will steal anything that not's nailed down or on fire, we thought it fitting to do the same and make our own version of "Little Red Riding Hood'._**

****** Madea said no more digestives til we'd finished. Remind her for us, would you?**

**_For Circe's love, do. He's driving me mad_.**

**_Draco _and Greg**

Once upon a time, there was a little muggle girl with a bright red cloak. I don't know why this is of interest, but it is. Draco's wife says that the little girl hadn't a name, which is sort of strange, really, but since Hermione is so nice, I shan't say anymore.

Anyway, this little girl was called 'Red Riding Hood'. One day the girl's mother found out that her own mother was poorly. Probably she'd had got a bad case of cataplexy, or perhaps St. Vitus' dance. Something terrible like that.

_Apparently too lazy to bother to go herself, and showing the habitual neglect with which muggles shower their children the mother sent Red Riding Hood with a hamper. It was brimful of useless muggle medicines, along with things old people like: pastilles, knitted bedroom slippers, ointments, horrible sticky boiled sweets, and perfume that could put a house elf off it's feed. _

And a budgie. My Grandmam had a whole flock of them, and a new addition would have cheered her up quite a lot. Perhaps two budgies. The girl's mother handed her the hamper and budgie cage and said "Now then, don't you go and talk to strangers, or your Da'll take his slipper to you. And stay on the pathways. There're things which live in the woods." And then she sent her on the way, maybe wondering whether she should just go herself.

The little girl wandered down the path all happy like, singing and giving the budgies seeds and all. A great big wolf, who could talk, saw her and decided to follow. He wasn't a wolf like Lupin; he was a bad wolf, like Greyback. This is really sort of a scary story, isn't it?

_No, Greg, it isn't. That aside,the wolf got bored watching the little girl skipping around and decided to do something a bit more productive. He got closer and said "Hello there, little girl." Being as she really was an abominably stupid child (which must be why the mother sent her; if she didn't come back, it would thin the herd a bit. Who can say, when muggles are involved?) she didn't run screaming, or at least question why the wolf could talk. Instead, she opened her eyes very wide and said "Hello, wolf."_

_The wolf smiled, despite being a wolf and therefore not being able to do that. "Where are you going, my dear muggle girl?" Well, perhaps he didn't say 'muggle' exactly, but would a wizarding child behave this way? I shouldn't think so. Then again, a witch wouldn't send a child into the woods by themselves, let alone in a cape which might as well be a sign reading 'Here I am'._

Wolves can't talk, but this one can, so maybe he could smile too. The little girl said "Going to my Grandmam's. She's not well."

"Oh' said the wolf 'And what've you got there?"

"Some things to make her feel better. And some budgies so she won't be lonely." The little girl stood there a moment, wondering how it was the wolf could talk, and then decided that she should get a move on.

The wolf came too. "Might be she'd like some flowers, then?"

"Mam said stay on the path." Not that she'd done a good job obeying much to start with. If it was my Da, he'd have tanned her good and proper for talking to a wolf at all. Right dodgy, the whole thing. But she was sort of young, and so she didn't think to tell a grown up.

_Given that the little girl hadn't thought to find any of this passing strange, and the mother had never told her to be wary of animals that can talk, we can safely assume the wolf is the smartest character in this story. He wrinkled his brow a little and then said "But she'll feel so much better if she had some nice flowers. And there's plenty of daylight, isn't there, to travel in?"_

_And so the little girl stepped from the path and picked some posies. The wolf kept her talking, and discovered that Grandmama lived in the next clearing, under an elm tree. Bidding the little girl a speedy good day, the wolf ran as fast as he could and found the wretched muggle shack._

_The grandmother, being not much smarter than the lackwit in the red cape, let him in. Or maybe she realised her granddaughter had sold her out to a talking wolf and decided being eaten was the best of all possible outcomes. Whichever, the wolf gobbled the old girl for tea, and, donning a night cap and knitted slippers (told you—old people love them.) climbed in the bed, despite not having thumbs to pull the duvet up, which means it couldn't have been hard to tell that it was_

_A wolf and_

_A male wolf_

_Though given how thick the girl apparently was, this is actually becomes less disturbing in context. If no one's noticed anything amiss yet, they're unlikely to be disturbed by the above two facts._

The little girl skipped to the house and let herself in. She noticed her grandmother wasn't up and about, or reading a confessions mag, and felt a little worried, so she thought she'd ask. Coming up to the bed, she noticed Grandmam was looking a little peaky.

"Grandmam, you've quite a fur coat there. Is it new?"

"It is' said her Grandmam. 'Quite smashing, wouldn't you say?"

"I suppose. And a tail too?"

"The girl at the shop said it's the latest thing. Kind of matches."

"And pointy teeth as well?"

"Quite."

Girls like that sort of thing(new clothes, not pointy teeth), and so Little Red moved closer, thinking maybe she'd mention that Grandmam was looking rather more like a wolf than the last time she'd seen her, and perhaps she should take some of the muggle medicine which had been sent.

Probably she would have, but her Grandmam (who was actually the wolf) ate her in a single swallow. She ended up in it's belly, where she found her real Grandmam, who didn't look much like a wolf at all, really. Except she had a little mustache—old women get those sometimes.

_It must have been a damned big mustache. Now the villain of the piece comes in, in the form of a huntsman who'd been skulking about. Wolf issues aside, what kind of bloke goes lurking near a woman's house wielding an axe? Sounds suspicious, if you ask me. If I were a bit more paranoid, I'd say he was in on it from the first and turned on his partner…_

_Anyway, for whatever godforsaken reason, this axe toting man bursts in and, rather than stealing something and being on his way like a normal person, decided to save the moronic child-who-couldn't-tell-a-wolf-from-a-kinswoman and her probably just as damned stupid Grandmama._

Lucky for the ladies, the wolf had bad manners and hadn't chewed. So when the huntsman chopped the wolf open, they were all right. Probably smelled pretty manky, though. They stepped out, and Grandmam gave the girl a ticking off for not knowing the difference between a wolf and herself, which was hard because if she didn't have a first name, she definitely didn't have a middle name. Then she noticed her new budgies and named them.

_The huntsman must have realised his mistake about the time the deranged old woman suggested they fill the wolf's stomach with rocks. After all, the wolf had just been doing a public service, eating idiots that would otherwise be roaming free, bothering the rest of us (like people who take twenty minutes to decide what they're hungry for at a restaurant. It's a pasty, not a damned marriage. And don't even get me started about the lines at the apothecary because of arses like these). He took the more sensible course, I presume—just because the muggle book said it doesn't make it true—and ended the poor thing's suffering, getting a rather nice pelt in the meantime. Maybe some good could come of all of this after all._

And so Little Red Riding Hood got home safely, except she probably got into trouble, but at least she never went into the woods again, and her Grandmam liked everything she'd been brought, and felt better. And the Mam realised sending Little Red Riding Hood to the woods by herself was a bad idea.

_That's it? Bloody hell._

I liked it.

_You would_.

What's that to mean?

_That all this muggle nonsense has given me a headache. _

Ah. Makes you grumpy. Is that why you were on about the apothecary like that? Couldn't get your potions?

_I am not grumpy_. _And I was not 'on about' anything. It was just an aside_.

Like Snape, you are, when you have your headaches. And it wasn't either.

_Was so. And if anything's made me grumpy, it's this horrible muggle story._

So you don't want to do another?

…._No_.


End file.
